


Adventures in Clockwork

by BardofHeartDive



Category: Alpha and Omega - Patricia Briggs, Mercy Thompson Series - Patricia Briggs
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M, Lost in Translation, Role-Playing Game, Roleplay, Steampunk, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-24 03:00:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6139020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BardofHeartDive/pseuds/BardofHeartDive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom asks Moira if she wants to roleplay. (From the OTP Prompt: "Imagine Person A asking Person B if they want to roleplay with them. B, thinking A means by some kinky stuff, says yes. B then proceeds to bring out dice, paper, pens, miniatures, and the rulebook to DND/Shadowrun/another tabletop RPG.")</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uncloudedandsage](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=uncloudedandsage).



> A while ago I offered a fanfiction gift as a bounty on tumblr. uncloudedandsage successfully found the information I was seeking and requested this OTP prompt for Tom and Moira. 
> 
> For those of you unfamiliar with the fandom, Tom is a werewolf and Moira is a witch who was traumatically (magically) blinded with severe residual deformities.

Tom has spent the night a couple times before but it’s still strange to wake up to the smell of coffee. Every day for a decade and a half I’ve had to make my own or go without. Having it ready when I roll out of bed and pad into the kitchen is a welcome change but hard to get used to.

“Good morning,” he says, as I sink into a chair. He’s on the far side of the kitchen by the stove and now that I’m in the room I can smell the eggs he’s cooking.

A mug thumps down on the table in front of me. There’s no other indication he’s moved besides a quick kiss pressed to the back of my neck as he passes. For a while after we started dating he was intentionally noisy around me, dragging his feet through the carpet, rustling his clothes. Making sure I could hear him since I couldn’t see him. Now he moves as silently as shadows but he never startles me.

I wait until I’ve taken a long sip before answering, “Morning.”

The toaster pops, followed by cupboards and drawers opening and closing. Tom can have the dozen or so eggs in the skillet as long as I get toast with almond butter and bananas. I’ve almost finished my coffee when two plates hit the table. He pours me another cup before sitting himself and digging into the eggs. The phrase “wolfing it down” is both literally and figuratively accurate but it seems in poor taste to say it.

“I’ve been wondering,” he says after slowing down. “Have you ever . . . would you be interested in doing some roleplaying?”

“No,” I answer, probably a little too quickly. “I mean, I’ve never done it before. I haven’t had much opportunity.”

Tom isn’t my first in the strictest sense of the word but I never really counted the boys and there was only Ruddy after I lost my vision. My glasses came off during, which wasn’t immediately a problem since the room was dark. But he woke up before me the next day and thought it might be nice to kiss me good morning. He was very polite when he excused himself but I could hear him retching through the bathroom door. I was equally polite when I broke up with him but I cried in the cab on the way home.

On instinct my hand goes to the endpiece of my glasses. It’s only there a second before Tom’s fingers brush against mine, warm, reassuring, and completely accepting.

“But I’d be willing to try it,” I add. I was willing to take on a coven of black witches for this man before I loved him. Costumes and characters aren’t going to scare me now. “Did you have any particular . . . genre in mind?”

“Ian found a steampunk system not too long ago,” he replies. “It has some interesting encounters and a few new classes. I was looking at an Aviator.”

The idea of Tom with a wind swept scarf and flight goggles is more amusing than arousing to me but I guess I won’t be seeing it anyway.

“Did you have a - ” what was the word he used - “class in mind for me?”

“I can’t design your character, Moira. It wouldn’t be right. You might end up playing them for months. If you’re not invested you’ll miss out on a whole aspect of the game.”

Well, I’m just learning all sorts of things today, aren’t I?

His chair scrapes against the tile as he gets up, refilling my coffee one more time then clearing the table. He rinses the dishes but leaves them by the sink.

“I have to get to work.”

I nod but I can feel the tension between my eyebrows. And if I can feel it Tom has noticed it. Half the time he knows before I do.

“Don’t worry so much,” he says with a laugh. This brightness of the sound still doesn’t seem to fit the smokiness of his speaking voice. “The first session is usually just character building and learning the mechanics, anyway. Especially with new players.”

I start to say “sounds good” or “great” or something similar but since we started dating I’ve learned that werewolves are natural lie detectors. I finally manage an “okay.”

He gives me a quick kiss before leaving.

* * *

I spend the next week trying to convince myself to research steampunk but I never manage to work up the nerve. Everyone at the station has been putting in extra hours since Fitch is on maternity leave so I don’t get much chance to talk with Tom. Besides making arrangements to pick me up, it doesn’t come up at all.

By the time my doorbell rings on Thursday I have a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach. When I open it, I am immediately enveloped in Tom, his smell, his presence, and mostly his arms as he kisses me. It’s a full, deep kiss that intensifies the butterflies but makes them so much more pleasant.

“I missed you,” he says when his mouth is free. “Ready?”

“Let’s go.”

He takes my right arm with his left and leads me to the car. Giving me directions has always come naturally to him. Both his words and body language are clear but unobtrusive. When I’m with him people often don’t realize I’m blind until he has to mention step or hanging objects. He opens my door, waits for me to get settled, then closes it and walks around to the driver’s side.

“I got you something,” he says, after he seatbelt clicks. “You’ll need if we start playing tonight. Hold out your hand.”

I follow his instructions and he drops something into my palm. He pulls out of the driveway while I try to figure out what it is. It’s small, multifaceted, and made of resin or maybe plastic. We must be halfway down the block before I realize it’s a twelve-sided die. But instead of numbers the sides have body parts on them. Tom has just rolled a “left leg.”

What have I gotten myself into?

The car stops, presumably where the road tees but instead of turning left, toward his house, we turn to the right.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“Jim’s place.”

"Jim's place?"

“Yeah, he’s got the best set up. Lots of table space, lots of seating. That’s where the pack meets usually, if not at Angus’s.”

Angus is the Alpha of the Pack. Jim ranks somewhere in the low middle, far enough down that I don’t know his actual position. What I do know is that Tom likes him and, more than that he trusts him. I didn’t realize it was enough to borrow his house for intimate purposes but maybe that’s not unusual for werewolves. The bonds between pack members are hard, if not impossible, for other humans to understand.

“The party’s a little smaller than usual this time,” he continues. “Ian’s a Dandy and Alan’s going to do either a Scientist or a Tinkerer, depending on what you decide.”

And that’s too much.

“Tom, stop.”

Dominant wolves don’t always react well to orders but if it bothers him he doesn’t show it. He pulls over and I hear him put the car into park. His clothes rub against his seat as he shifts to look at me. His attention is heavy but gentle.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is nonchalant and it turns all my nervousness to indignance.

“Honestly, I have no idea. I admit that it’s been awhile, a long while, since I’ve been . . . with anyone but I’ve been completely satisfied with us so far. So why don’t you tell me, Mr. Aviator. What’s wrong with our sex-life?”

“Nothing . . . ?”

“So ‘nothing’ is why you suggested we start roleplaying?”

“What does that have to do . . . oh.” The sound that follows is mostly clearing his throat with a laugh and a snort mixed in. Then he says, “Adventures in Clockwork.”

“What?”

“Adventures in Clockwork,” he repeats, as if  saying the exact same thing again will make me understand. Mostly it just irritates me. “It’s a tabletop role-playing game. Like Dungeons and Dragons.”

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Whatever I was planning to say is choked down by a bewildered embarrassment. I am a moron. An absolute moron with her mind in the gutter.

He mistakes my lack of response for confusion and continues. “You know, miniatures, battle maps, dice - ”

“I know what Dungeons and Dragons is!” I snap, as my fingers curl around the die. I sigh, shake my head and say, “Okay. Let’s go.”

Gentleman that he is he doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine.

“And don’t tell the rest of them.”

“Not a word,” he agrees. But a few minutes later he adds, “But if you ever want to do some _private_ roleplaying, you’d look damn good in a corset and bustle.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know that I did too well with their characters/voices but I’m pretty pleased with the story itself. And who in the world knew the proper name for a group of butterflies is a kaleidoscope?!?!


End file.
